


The Voice of The Wolf

by TheAllShipperKAZ2Y5



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Bar Allison, Blood, Bonding, Canon Until That Point, Clothes Sharing, Comfort, Detailed Violence, F/M, Family Feels, Full Shift!Wolves, Gore, Kidnapping, M/M, Motorcycles, Murder, Pack Feels, Protective!Pack, Protective!Peter, Sad Stiles, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Steter - Freeform, Still assholes though, Temporary Character Death, Temporary Death, The Jeep is Called Bear, The Twins Care, Twilight sized Wolves, Voice Loss, Wolf Shifts, isaac is a good friend, post!Nogitsune
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllShipperKAZ2Y5/pseuds/TheAllShipperKAZ2Y5
Summary: "You have the same look in your eyes that he did, you know. Go on. Plea for it. Beg for your life. Stiles didn't even get the chance to beg."Dedicated to the most amazing Harry in the world. The Peter to my Stiles <3Re-work of this:http://lloydoholic.tumblr.com/post/137908182464/imagine-the-pack-accidentally-waking-a-goddess-and





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harry. The Peter to my Stiles](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Harry.+The+Peter+to+my+Stiles).



> Re-vamp of my original Steter Big Bang work. I was unsatisfied with the other one and also unable to finish it on time due to illness. This one will be far better. Though several months late.
> 
> Oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm an ass and accidentally uploaded the first chapter. Unfinished. This will hopefully not happen again with the future chapters >.>  
> This chapter is now finished. It's just a sort of filler chapter to set things up. Things will be more detailed and eventful in the next chapter.

 

Whoever decided winter was a good idea was an asshole and a nutcase. Though of course, Stiles was the only one who thought this, glowering at his lycanthrope friends from inside the Jeep, where he was huddled over the dashboard, the heaters spewing hot air against his chest and stinging fingertips. They'd all slept at the loft that night after a lengthy and unusually serious Pack Meeting to determine the fate of the latest threat to Beacon Hills. Honestly, Stiles was so bloody sick of having a new monster every week. Just dig up the damn tree and be done with it. 

He'd hissed at them this morning when they'd announced it was his turn to be the seeing eye. Burrowed further under his blankets and even bitten Scott's fingers when he'd tried to pull him out. The battle had only ended when Derek had picked him up and shaken him out of the blanket and onto the cold, hard floor. The loft was fucking freezing but there Derek Hale was, in a bastard tank top of all things, giving him the Eyebrows of Doom until he sulked and whined and moped his whole way downstairs.

The only highlight of the morning was that Isaac had made him a hot chocolate in a giant travel flask. 'Bless you and your stupid scarf' had been Stiles' token of appreciation for the act of pity. He'd say kindness, but the smug look on Isaac's face when Stiles hit the floor meant that would be a moderate lie. He'd schlepped the long journey down the stairs and miserably crawled into the Jeep, uttering curses at the rest of his so called 'friends' as he drove off. He didn't know why it was him. A big ass blue Jeep in the middle of the woods was not at all inconspicuous. That and he openly admitted he had the attention span of a squirrel. 

He was over-all the worst choice for this job and yet here he was. He was sure they'd had a secret meeting while he slept to make an agreement that they'd bully him today. Not that any other day was different. Human apparently meant you got the menial tasks nobody else could be bothered to do. Such as sitting for possibly an entire day observing an abandoned hunting cabin to see if it was in fact the hide-out of their latest potential serial killer of the wolfy biology. He uttered another annoyed growl as he wiggled in his awkward, uncomfortable position. But a healthy spine in old age wasn't the worst thing to give up in exchange for heat.

He'd driven up the mountainous part of the Preserve, slotting the Jeep neatly amongst the trees and large rocks on the edge of one of the drops that over-looked the area that had been logged down to build a cabin for spring-time hunters. That craze had long ago faded and the cabin was old, run down. He and Scott had explored it a few times over the years, the games changing the older they got until eventually it was sneaking out there to try alcohol, to talk about girls, to fire the weapons Stiles smuggled from his father. In time that turned into passing comments and wistful memories. School took over, and then came the complicated issue of werewolves and all that other bullshit that had led Stiles to here.

Here, being freezing to death in a place nobody would find him because Scott would forget the moment he looked at Derek and Derek would more than likely choose a lifetime of quiet and peace over rescuing him. Or facing the Sheriff if he was frozen to death. He took a morose sip of his hot chocolate and turned his gaze back to the old cabin. Not two seconds later, his gaze flicked down to the clock on the dashboard. Three hours. Three hours he'd been here. 

And had there been any fucking movement from that fucking cabin?

_Had there fuck._

Actually, he lied. A Coyote had cocked it's leg against one of the walls and marked it as territory before vanishing off into the forest. It's so cold even the birds are huddled up in the trees together, beaks tucked down. It's not windy, or snowing, or raining. It's overcast and grey, but that's the extent of it. It just seems like all the heat was sucked out of California. Some sort of freakish natural phenomenon. California was usually moderately warm in winter. Sure, there was the odd thunderstorm or downpour but that was generally it. This year though, it seemed the Universe just wanted to keep leaving bags of flaming shit on Stiles' doorstep.

He huffed softly, watched angrily as his breath formed a little white cloud, and in a minute fit of rage flung his arms everywhere to get rid of it, ignoring when it returned on his next breath as he observed the cabin again. They hadn't said how long to stay, they'd just informed him of their decision and promptly kicked him out. Or rather, shaken him out. Assholes. Maybe they'd done it on purpose, he considered. Revenge for something he'd done or said. Maybe it was Peter's idea. This seemed Peter-level cruel. Or maybe the Twins? They came up with unusual and evil suggestions regularly. And Derek wasn't hard to sway in terms of cruel and unusual. 

He'd reclined the seat and had been bouncing a rubber ball off the windshield by the time his phone finally rings, and it bounces off his eye when he sits up to grab his phone. His greeting is a long stream of hissed swearing that highly amuses and simultaneously concerns Scott, who has called to say that he's been there eight hours and since he hasn't called to report anything, he should head back home. He wanted to curse at him. Maybe strangle him a little. He has an Ally McBeale moment of pouncing on his friend and mauling him like a rabid jungle cat and when his eyes focus again he's got an eye twitch and he's gripping his phone so hard it's creaking slightly. 

Instead, he gave a soft sigh, responded with a cheerful answer and hung up, slamming his phone onto the passenger seat and letting out a frustrated scream before composing himself. When he looked up, there's a crow sat on the bonnet of the Jeep, looking at him with a tilted head.

"Fuck off" Stiles tells it, and cranks the heat up higher.

When he gets back to the loft there's nobody in the general vicinity. There is, however, a lot of papers spread across the large table by the window and Stiles waddled over to them, fingertips in his mouth to try and warm them as he scanned the papers. News reports from other states. Davos Dahara, their latest threat. It was case files of his victims, things associated with him. People spotted with him and where he's been spotted. Derek's ridiculously fancy calligraphy is scrawled here and there. Neat circles are around some bits of information. Scott's hyper-spider scrawl is scratched along here and there, too. Things he'd probably thought were helpful but from Stiles' quick glance are utterly pointless. 

Honestly. What well-off man _doesn't_ own a black suit? If that's all Scott had to go on they'd make twenty arrests a day. Bless him. Stiles loved Scott, but he would not grow up to be a Detective like he'd often proudly stated as a child. When he turned, Peter Hale was standing so close they almost brushed noses and Stiles shrieked, leaping backwards. So much so, he ended up laying on the table, legs sprawled and body aching. Cold and battered. It had a right to complain. "You're an asshole" he muttered, lifting his head. Peter gave him a sickeningly innocent  _who, me?_ quirk of his brow and shook his head, reaching forwards and sliding a hand around Stiles' wrist. His right. The same one he'd gripped that night he'd offered him the Bite.

He's on his feet before he can really blink, and makes what he hopes is a 'thanks' sound through chattering teeth. Peter rolled his eyes and moved away. Stiles hated himself momentarily for missing the radius of heat Peter had encompassed him in. Peter doesn't offer him a blanket or a coat. Stiles doesn't expect him to. Peter shows kindness, but kindness that can't lead back to him. Isaac's favourite tea in the cupboards. Derek's jacket hung up where it was previously discarded on the coffee table. A book with the information they need conveniently appearing on the table. Something so open as offering him warmth was not something Peter Hale would dip his claws into.

He thought if Peter would have before. Before the fire and the Argents. When he was a man with a wife and a family. Wondered if he'd ever draped a blanket over a sleeping Hale child that'd crashed on the couch. Stiles can't count how many times in his life he'd passed out in random places, too exhausted to consider his bed, and woken under a warm blanket. Sometimes there was even a pillow. He shook himself from his thoughts and looked around the room. Peter was gone, but it was logic that he'd retreated upstairs. Nobody bar Derek and Peter went upstairs. A basic level of respect and common decency for the Hales and their privacy, as well as the whole 'wolf den' thing that Scott spoke about in such a sickening, intimate way. 

Stiles scrunched his nose, stole Derek's Henley off the couch and curled up, huffing to himself as he turned on the TV they'd bullied Derek into buying last month. There's nothing much on TV, but that's okay because it gives Stiles time to plot his revenge. There's not much he can do to them bar a touch of wolfsbane poisoning. But Stiles wasn't sure he could handle it if they actually died. That would just be the icing on top of the worst cake in the world. Derek wasn't so hard to aggravate. All he had to do was be overly affectionate or annoying and it would leave Derek in a sulk for the rest of the month. Scott was sort of easy, too. Stiles just had to ignore him and Scott would trip over himself to right his wrongs. 

Isaac, Stiles didn't have the heart to punish. Even Peter was less of an asshole around the timid blond, so Stiles certainly didn't have the equipment. He gave a soft huff and supposed he would have to settle for letting them starve at the next Pack Meeting. That seemed a suitable and subtle way to get his revenge. Somehow, over time, it had gone from them not eating at Pack Meetings to bringing their individual snacks, to ordering take-out to them buying food to keep at Derek's to cook. And then Stiles had supposedly been elected Pack Meeting caterer, because everyone else stopped cooking until it was just him.

Bastards.

But it was uttered fondly, because Stiles had a family now. And sure, it was broken. Dysfunctional. Founded on manipulations and lies and a rabid Uncle. But it was a family none-the-less and he was proud of them. Of them all. Hell. He supposed he was even proud of Jackson, who in the discovery of just how much Lydia meant to him had become a smidgen less of a great big bag of dicks. He was still unbearable, but he was starting to show a few good points in light of his recent wolfy make-over. 

He was lost in the consideration that he was actually referring to Jackson as anything other than a great big bag of dicks when the loft door was hauled open and Derek came swaggering through, followed loyally by Scott and Ethan, who smirked at Stiles bundled up on the couch knowingly. None of the wolves were dressed as though it was winter bar Scott, who'd loaded on a thick jacket. Habit, mostly, he'd admitted. He still kept forgetting he wasn't human anymore, even after the past year. 

"Nothing?" Was Derek's greeting, and Stiles shook his head morosely. 

"Nothing. Not even a twitch. A coyote used the cabin as a litter tray but that was about it".

Derek didn't look too concerned or displeased by the news and headed straight over to the table, joined by Ethan who separated from Scott as the Alpha bound his way over to Stiles happily, nudging him upwards a little on the couch so he could cuddle against him. Stiles clung to the offering of warmth eagerly, resting his head on Scott's chest and sliding his arms up under the jacket. Scott was hotter than a hot water bottle and Stiles gave a long, pleased exhale, ignoring Scott's little chuckle of amusement.

"Sorry you got stuck with look-out duty. But we had a productive day" Scott offered, as though that would make up for eight hours of freezing to death.

It didn't.

Stiles gave a soft grunt in response, and didn't bother to ask what they'd found. Scott would tell him either way, and he did.

The man was laying low and wisely so. After all, it wasn't exactly a secret Peter had announced the next Alpha to visit their territory would be so kindly offering up their power to him. That and while Scott was doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again, his Pack were not. 

There was already several behind-back conspiracies to use solutions the Alpha would most certainly not agree with if it so came to it. Unsurprisingly, it had been the Twins to offer up the idea. Surprisingly, everyone had agreed. Including Stiles. His time under the hold of the Nogitsune had taught him much. Lessons learnt in literal blood, sweat and tears. He wasn't so willing to go through that again.

Scott's fingers tightened a little on his shoulders and Stiles realised he'd been slowly sinking into another dark place. His best friend was looking down at him, face carefully schooled but not at all hiding his concern. He offered a smile and looked away to where Ethan and Derek were comparing articles of paper. This was such a routine, familiar event now that whenever there was peace in Beacon Hills, while it was a relief it was....Weird. 

What a thing, he realised. He was so used to running for his life when he stood still it felt un-natural. He shook his head a little and focused on what Derek and Ethan were discussing. More scope-outs and patrols. Perhaps enlisting Mr. Argent's help where the wolves would be too obvious. What a family they made.

Ever since the death of his wife, Chris had become sort of a Pack member. Alone with his world tipped on it's head, they couldn't cast him out, even for all his past wrongs. After all. They still had Peter, so they would be hypocrites. He'd proved a highly useful ally and over time, a sort of decent sort of friend. He taught the wolves to use guns, taught Stiles to move like a hunter and taught Jackson a few lessons in manners. 

He'd even made them dinner, once. An awkward, impromptu thanks for saving his life when a group of kill-everything hunters had targeted him for siding with the enemy. It had been a little uneasy, a little uncomfortable, but by the end of the dinner it was clear they were no longer enemies. Chris still regarded Derek with wariness and Derek likewise. And Chris still looked at Stiles a little too intensely whenever he picked up his knife, but that was to be expected. 

"We have the day off school tomorrow, too. Me and Scotty could go see Chris, ask him to do some leg work?" He offered, and Derek turned to study him for a moment before nodding. 

"Good idea. I'll take the Twins and do some more scouting in the woods".

"Fair enough" Ethan responded, setting down his papers and turning away, heading for the door. "I'll go hunt out Aiden. Make some notes for tomorrow" he announced as he left, leaving just the three of them. Derek watched him go approvingly. Loathe as Derek was to admit it, he liked this little patchwork Pack of theirs. 

They stayed a little longer, Stiles soaking up the warmth that emanated from Scott while Derek sat across the couch from them, watching the show being displayed on TV with increasing bewilderment. It was some sort of Werewolf show and Stiles imagined it must annoy Derek to no end. Like how goths often got into rages over 'fakers'. 

Eventually, though, Scott announced it was late and his Mom would be home soon so Stiles reluctantly untangled himself from his friend, sufficiently warmed that he felt he wouldn't freeze to death on the way to the Jeep. Derek didn't say goodbye, he almost never did, but nodded at them as they collected their things and said their own. 'Don't die' was the usual good-luck/goodbye saying of this Pack. 

He and Scott said goodbye in the parking lot, hugging tightly and promising to text each other the next morning before Scott was hopping onto his dirtbike and skidding away and Stiles was hauling himself up into the Jeep, cringing as he sat on the cold fabric seats. He couldn't wait for home and warmth and food and bed. And the next time they tried to offer him up for seeing-eye duty he knew exactly what to tell them. 

What he arrived to though was a cold house, his father having left a note on the fridge that he'd been called into work for a late shift and they wouldn't be getting take-out together tonight. He crumpled the note and tossed it aside, turning his head away. His father was stuck in this unbearable cycle of not wanting to leave him alone, and not wanting to be around him. For his own comfort or Stiles', he didn't know. His father still searched his room now and then, Stiles knew. He tried to be careful about it, but Stiles could see quite easily that his things had moved. 

The camera from his room was still there. Unplugged, he'd been assured, but  _just in case. And it'll come in handy if you're grounded, kiddo._

He sighed, threw a Mac'n'Cheese in the microwave and then huddled up in his desk chair, wrapped in a warm sweater with the central heating on as he surfed the net idly. He checked his emails and scowled at the reminder for a Chemistry test this week, promptly giving his computer the middle finger before scrolling through the others. A message from Deaton, advising he didn't pursue his intention to establish connections with other Packs without ensuring Derek and Scott were fully on board. He rolled his eyes. As if he could sneeze without Scott or Derek knowing about it. 

Emails taken care of he moved on to chucking an episode of Game of Thrones on and eating his now cold dinner. He looked up at the camera out of habit. His Dad didn't know, but he had the video feed saved to his phone. Himself but not him, waving coyly at the camera. His hand clenched around the fork, bending it slightly as he thought about it. When his hands begun to shake he let go of the fork, letting it clatter onto the desk. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, he shook his head. No. He wasn't going to go there. He wouldn't.

So he didn't.

He watched the Lannisters fucking and killing and celebrating and the wolves getting picked off, pup by pup. And he tried not to pay attention to the fact that he knew what it was like to be at the handle end of the sword, driving it forwards,  _twisting._

Four episodes later he shut off that tab and moved onto the Bestiary. He'd almost finished reading it, making notes he considered important. It was always helpful to know some facts about whatever was trying to kill you that week. Not that it usually mattered to the others. Once they knew what it was they tended to just leap at it with fangs and claws and assume that would do it. 

He rolled his eyes in fond amusement at that thought, and continued his self-assigned homework. By the time he was done it was starting to get a little late, so he settled for doing the dishes, humming as he absently wiped them down with soapy cloths before leaving them to dry. He bundled the laundry into the machine and started a cycle and put away the pair of shoes that always seemed to appear near the door before deciding to call it a night. He figured it was well earned to catch up on the sleep the wolves had so cruelly robbed him of this morning. 

Sleep, of course, put up a fight and it truly was dark and night time when he eventually drifted off. Sleep was a fifty-fifty choice. He wanted to sleep to escape life, but he was too scared to sleep for what it often brought with it. What was it, he'd once read in English? _The worst thing about nightmares is like dreams, they are not only in the company of sleep._

Tonight, however, someone must have taken pity on him because he had no nightmares and he had no dreams. Only a comforting, restful darkness that was so shy, but so appreciated when it did decide to visit. 

It didn't stay long, though. His lashes fluttered upwards to the sight of **3:18** glowing green in the darkness. Stiles groaned reluctantly, because this was just unfair, but knew he would not be getting back to sleep anytime soon. It was just as common for him to wake early as it was for him to not sleep at all, and nights of desperate trying had taught him once he was awake, that was his fate. So he sat up in bed, rubbing a hand through his growing-out hair before rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

He let his hands drop onto the covers and looked blearily around his room. The moon was high and almost full and it wouldn't be long before they'd have their monthly stay at the Preserve, where Stiles would usually die of boredom or sleep while the wolves run amok amongst the trees. He'd run with them once, and ended up running right off the edge of a small cliff. As such, he was banned from participating in the running anymore, but was still more than welcome to come along with them. 

Eventually he moved, fetching his laptop and pausing by his window to look out of it thoughtfully. The night was still, quiet. Like it was holding its breath. Stiles narrowed his eyes distrustfully at the window and set his laptop back down, moving closer to look out of it, scanning the garden. Empty. He leant around, looking at the street. Empty, bar a street cat running under a streetlight and into the front garden of a house across the street. Stiles shook his head at himself. 

And then paused, because just ahead of him, the tree branches moved a little, wiggling in a breeze-less night. He lifted his head sharply, focusing on it. The branches and leaves were still, no sign of their prior movement. A few more seconds ticked by where he didn't move at all, and then he breathed out and relaxed. Stupid, he thought to himself. Though he had the full right to be paranoid. He'd learnt that shadows were never just shadows.

The bird -a crow, or something alike- exploded form the trees like a creature from Hell, flapping madly straight towards the window and Stiles  _screeched,_ pin-wheeling his arms as he leapt backwards and sprawled onto the floor. His bedroom door banged open just as he was attempting to get himself up again and he yelled and flung himself away from it, sprawling across the floor once more. His father stood there, sleepy eyed but comically alert, his issue weapon flying around the room before he dropped his arm, looking down at his son.

"Stiles? What the Hell happened? It sounded like you were fighting someone in here,son" the Sheriff mumbled, running an exhausted hand down his face.

"Bird" was the only response he got as Stiles crawled across his room and to his feet, shaking slightly as he tried to calm his heart. 

Bewildered, the Sheriff glanced at the window, back at his son, then shook his head and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. Stiles watched him go and stood for a little while longer to compose himself and catch his breath before he darted across the room snatching up his laptop while suspiciously staring out the window. He retreated to his bed and slunk under the covers again, realising for the first time since awaking just how chilly it was.

He powered up his laptop and digested another episode of Game of Thrones, entranced by it's events. Odd, he mused. He'd prefer Dragons to psychotic Werewolves. At least with a Dragon you knew it wasn't really personal if they roasted you like a Thanksgiving ham.

With Werewolves, everything seemed personal. 

He must have dozed off because he was awoken by a face nuzzling at his cheek and he snorted in mild irritation, swatting at whatever or whoever it was. There was a breathy little laugh and a nip at the top of his ear and he opened one eye to find himself staring at Scott's jaw. 

"Good morning, dawning" Scott greeted cheerfully, and Stiles slapped at him again, just because.

"Nobody has the right to be this cheerful this early" he grumbled in response, rolling back into his nest of bedding and attempting to snuggle down into it again. Scott snorted in amusement from above. 

"Dude. It's almost 12pm. I let you sleep in because your Dad said you had a weird freak out at like four this morning" his faithful companion informed, and Stiles groaned loudly before pushing himself up. Twelve. He supposed he couldn't continue to be lazy.

"It was a bird" he responded grumpily, and flung the blankets over Scott's head as he got up and begun to get ready. Face washed, teeth brushed, a pair of skinny jeans and a hoodie later and he was ready. Bizarrely, it wasn't as freezing cold as it had been yesterday. It was chilly, but not enough for a proper jacket. Scott was also in a hoodie, his helmet and gloves discarded on Stiles' desk, where his laptop also resided. He figured Scott must have put it there, because Stiles had fallen asleep halfway through an episode of Parks and Recreation. 

"I've already messaged Chris and told him we'd be there soon. He's making brunch" Scott announced, and Stiles paused a little, raising an eyebrow at Scott, who gave a sort of  _I know?_ expression in response. Shrugging it off, the duo spent a moment gathering their things before bounding side-by-side down the steps. John was sat at the table with a bowl of cereal, and Stiles lid to a halt in the doorway, Scott pulling up sharply besides him.

"Going to see Mr.Argent" Stiles announced, and the Sheriff waved his spoon in acknowledgement. 

"Don't do anything stupid" he warbled around a mouthful of Captain Crunch, and resumed his late breakfast. Stiles couldn't argue it wasn't reasonable advice, and headed on off through the front door, leaving Scott to swing it shut. The spare helmet was hanging off the handlebars of the bike and Stiles sagged a little. It wasn't that he didn't like bikes. It was just that they didn't really have a reputation of being  _warm._

That and he could fall off a flat surface. A bike was largely more dangerous than most flat surfaces. 

"I hope he's made pancakes" Scott mused aloud as he helped Stiles buckle up the helmet and then hopped onto the bike, holding the weight on his leg while Stiles got on behind him and then firing it up. Stiles just shook his head at his friend's antics and helped Scott back out and turn, before they were on their way.

Stiles was right. 

Bikes were fucking  _cold._

It didn't take long to get to the Argent's house. Though Chris no longer needed a large house he'd stayed there. Nostalgia and memories, Stiles figured. That and it was a pretty cool house. Even Scott had admitted that the first time they'd ever been there. Scott pulled the bike up a careful distance away from Chris' large black SUV and they dismounted together, Stiles rubbing his hands together to get some life back into them as they approached the door. 

Christopher Argent opened it before they could even knock, and Stiles leant back a little in startled, slightly disturbed surprise. Chris was no Werewolf, but he certainly seemed to have the freakish and invasive senses of one. He nodded a greeting and stepped aside, shutting the door with a soft  _snick_ behind them once they'd both stepped inside. There was a nice scent to the air and Stiles caught Scott's nose twitching in his peripheral vision. He hid a smile.

Not a dog, he says. 

"It must be important, if you're spending your day off here with me" Chris said in lieu of a greeting or small talk, and Stiles shrugged. 

"Same old. Some psycho is trying to kill us all and take over Beacon Hills". Chris cast him a sideways, mildly amused glance and led the way into the kitchen, where three plates of a cooked English breakfast waited. Two side-by-side on one side of the table, one lone one on the other. Scott and Stiles took their seats easily, and Chris sat in his own, offering nothing in response as he cut smoothly into a sausage, drove it through his tomatoes and ate it. After he'd swallowed, he looked up at them expectantly before resuming cutting.

"Davos Dahara. An Alpha. He's come into Beacon Hills and...Well. Pretty much vanished, but we know he's here and alive and....Y'know. Wants to kill us" Scott hastily informed, tucking in enthusiastically to his food. Stiles was a little more suspicious, poking at his food before cautiously taking a bite. It was delicious, and once it didn't kill him, he tucked in just as enthusiastically. Chris had paused mid-chew, watching them the way you might watch a dog attack it's first meal in an age. After a moment though, he resumed eating.

"I've only heard small bits. Passing talk, here and there about him, over time. He's your typical power-hungered Alpha. Comes from an old family, sort of similar to the Hales. Western. Very few morals and very few friends".

Stiles didn't suppose ruthless killers had many friends. It kind of didn't go with the title, to be posting hang-out pictures on Snapchat.

"We uh....We need your help, to find him. If that's cool" Scott awkwardly approached, hastily stuffing a bite of egg and mushroom into his mouth. Chris merely nodded, however, like he knew all along this is why they came. Stiles, who'd simply been heartily tucking into his food, pointed his fork at Chris.

"We're doing our best, but y'know. Things never go our way. We just need to find him. Scope out why he's here". He'd almost said if he needs to die, but then remembered that plan was a little secret and the person it was a secret from was right besides him. Chris raised an eyebrow at him, like he'd pointed out the obvious, and nodded again. 

"I'm aware. I'll do some hunting around. If he's here, I'll find him".

Brunch was uneventful and rather lacking in conversation after that, but the duo cheerfully put their dishes away in the sink and thanked the man, both for the meal and his offer of help before leaving. Stiles often got the impression Chris was lonelier than he let on, and he paused in the doorway. "I think Isaac could use some more practice honing his senses" he conversed, and Chris simply gave a nod in response, shutting the door once their helmets were on and they'd begun backing away.

Chris had taken on an almost fatherly role to Isaac, teaching him the basic life skills his father hadn't taught him, and re-teaching those his father had taught through pain and fear. Their latest set of lessons was on learning to recognise the signs of a hunter using his senses. How to dodge arrows and how to recognise wolfsbane bullets from regular ones. The company and the bond had been good for Isaac. And for Chris. It wasn't hard to see that, and if Stiles could kill two birds with one stone, why shouldn't he? Besides. Isaac did desperately need to work on relying on his senses more. 

Scott parked the bike in the parking lot of the loft and they trotted along leisurely up the stairs together, Stiles focusing on not tripping and Scott happily chattering away about why Raspberry Twists were so much better than the Peach ones. Stiles agreed, but by the time they reached the stop of the stairs he didn't have the breath to answer it, staggering into the loft. Derek was stretched out on the larger couch, dozing in his full shift form and Stiles whined. That was the only comfortable place to sit. It was also the only seat that didn't break your tailbone if you sat too heavily. 

Derek twitched an ear at them and opened one eye, but closed it again soon after. He didn't seen to have any intention of moving, so Stiles sulkily took the chair opposite the coffee table and couch. Scott didn't seem to mind, brushing up against Derek's paws as he passed and settling on the arm of the couch. "We saw Chris. He's gonna do some leg work, hunt around and see if he can find Davos".

Derek's response was a soft grunt. Scott didn't seem deterred though, happily chattering on about the events of his morning. Birthday cake Poptarts for breakfast with tropical juice. He beat his old highscore on Deer Hunter ll. He woke Stiles up without getting attacked. Over-all a stellar morning, he considered. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, but fondly. He'd mostly tuned Scott out, choosing instead to mess around on his phone. He'd recently found a game that allowed for high-graphic Chemistry free-play and it was startling what combinations caused fatal gasses and explosions. It was largely educational and highly entertaining. Especially since this was illegal in real life. 

Scott had eventually finished his rambling and switched on the TV, watching it with rapture. It was some cheesy old medieval film, but Scott didn't seem to mind. Neither did Derek, who appeared dead until he eventually huffed and raised his head, eyeing the screen and then Scott before rolling his eyes and letting his head fall again. Stiles applauded Derek on his tolerance. It wasn't displayed often but Stiles classed it as progress whenever it was. 

Eventually, boredom got the best of him and he hauled himself to his feet, pacing restlessly around the room. Scott's head followed him, turning left and right to track his listless wandering. "I'm bored" he announced to the room shortly after, and Derek grunted in response as though to say  _congratulations. I don't care._

Scott just gave him a helpless little look and Stiles rolled his eyes, digging out his phone again and scrolling around. Several moments later he raised it triumphantly. "Scotty, grab your coat. We're going to the movies". Scott looked a little surprised, but did as told and scooped up his jacket. Stiles patted Derek on the head as he passed and chose to ignore the snap of teeth it got him. Scott settled for a less risky goodbye as they strode out, Stiles leaving Scott to shut the loft door because that thing was heavy and it was the least Scott could do.

"What movie are we seeing?" Scott asked as he tugged on his jacket, trotting alongside Stiles as they begun to make their way down the steps. Stiles brandished his phone screen at him with a grin.

"We're going to see Finding Dory" he announced, staring out his friend as they walked and daring him to respond. Scott skimmed the edge of a step and flailed a little, but wisely chose to act enthusiastic. Stiles rewarded him with a pat on the head. 

The drive there was quick, and Stiles sent Scott off to get the tickets while he loaded up on snacks. It was of course a very important task, the choosing of movie snacks. There was a lot to consider. Popcorn was good, but made you really thirsty and got stuck in your teeth. Chocolate was good but sickly in large amounts. He settled for a bag of popcorn, a bag of skittles, a large sharing bottle of Cola and a few candy bars. Satisfied, he turned and begun to walk towards the check-out. 

He'd gone all of four steps when he crashed into someone, scrambling to catch the bottle of Cola before it fell. Hi other prizes weren't so lucky, sprawling across the floor. "My apologies, I'm so clumsy and ignorant when I'm distracted" came a smooth Southern accent, the man he'd crashed into turning around with an apologetic smile, holding up his phone to show the reason for his distraction.

Stiles shrugged it off. "No worries, dude. It happens" he shrugged, tucking the slightly disturbed bottle of Cola under his arm as he stooped to pick up the rest of his snacks, the man joining him and retrieving the candy bars that had rolled away in a bid for escape. Stiles took them back with a nod of thanks, mildly surprised when he looked up to find the man catching and holding his gaze unwaveringly. His eyes were sharp, a curious yellow-green mix.

"Um....Thanks. And sorry" Stiles responded, awkwardly side-stepping the man to head to the check-out. The man dipped his head in an oddly formal dismissal. 

"Enjoy your movie" he said as he departed, striding off and getting lost in the mingling crowd. Stiles shrugged for the third time and paid for his good, dismissing the event from his mind. Beacon Hills was full of odd people.

Scott re-joined him as he was picking up all his things with the tickets in hand, and took the Cola and popcorn off him. A wise choice, seeing as he'd already dropped them once. "Butter Bars! Dude, you're awesome" Scott exclaimed, catching sight of Stiles' hoard and high-fiving him. 

"I know" Stiles responded haughtily, flashing his best friend a grin as they had their tickets checked and ripped, and made their way into the theatre. 

Finding Dory was  _awesome._

"Dude, Derek would totally be the octopus!" Scott laughed as they left, dumping their empty wrappers into the bin on their way out. Stiles cackled in agreement, nodding. For sure. Grumpy, trying to pretend he didn't care when he did. Hitting things a lot. 

Derek was an octopus. For sure. 

"You'd be Nemo" Scott decided after a bit of consideration, and Stiles elbowed him in the ribs. 

"That would make you Dory". 

Scott didn't seem to mind. 

"Oh, Scotty. I gotta do some grocery shopping. Dad forgot the other day and like, all we have in the house is month old microwave meals" Stiles pulled a face, remembering his task as they were pulling out of the theatre parking lot. Scott lifted a hand to show he'd heard, and turned right instead of left to head further into town towards the supermarkets and stores. They parked up outside a fresh produce store and Stiles left Scott to carry the helmets as they entered. 

"Sti. That carrot looks like a wiener" Scott pointed out when they were selecting some carrots, giggling childishly. Stiles glanced and....Had to admit. It did look like a dick. He snorted and tossed it into the bag, just because, and turned.

"Holy shit!" He gasped, grabbing Scott by the arm and frantically pointing across the store. Scott looked about wildly, and when he found what Stiles was pointing at, he gave an equally surprised exclamation. Carefully inspecting some Japanese fruits, was Peter Hale. Dressed in slim-fitting jeans with a smart but casual jacket and a basket of fruit and vegetables hanging off his arm.

"This is so weird" Stiles muttered, shaking his head as they stared. "It's like....It's like he's  _normal_ " he stage whispered to Scott, who nodded slowly in agreement. Peter Hale didn't do things like grocery shopping. Peter Hale appeared randomly and disappeared equally as randomly. He was sarky and mostly unhelpful and killed things. A lot. He didn't do something as normal and human as  _grocery shopping._

They stared, entranced and a little weirded out as he chose the best of the two he was considering and headed for the check-outs. Hastily, Scott and Stiles scattered into the next isle where Stiles loaded up a bag with apples. "I suppose he has to eat somehow" Scott pointed out, curiously poking at a banana. Stiles made a vague sound of agreement.

"Yeah, but I mean, come on. He seems more like the type to maul wild animals than to grocery shop" he pointed out. Scott's face twisted a little, but he agreed. The idea of Peter running around the woods gutting deer seemed more plausible than finding him at a farmers market. 

Several stores later, Stiles paused. "Hang on. How are we supposed to get all this home?". 


End file.
